He told me the other day that he was proud of me. That I was a good man, but I’m not. I know more about what he wanted for me and I tried, but I still have these thoughts. I’m not what he thinks I am. I’m just a monster, too.

“Jaime,” Brienne whispered, so faintly he thought he was dreaming it. “Jaime, what are you doing?”

“Dying,” he whispered back.

“No,” she said, “no, you must live.”

He wanted to laugh. “Stop telling me what do, wench. I’ll die if it pleases me.”

“Are you so craven?”

The word shocked him. He was Jaime Lannister, a knight of the Kingsguard, he was the Kingslayer. No man had ever called him craven. Other things they called him, yes; oathbreaker, liar, murderer. They said he was cruel, treacherous, reckless. But never craven. “What else can I do, but die?”

Joffrey is a little douchecanoe, but his death doesn’t bring Ned or Cat or Robb back. His death puts Sansa in the hands of a sexual predator. His death puts Tyrion in jail for a crime he did not commit. His death emotionally traumatizes Cersei.

"He has Jaime’s eyes. Only he had never seen Jaime look so scared. The boy’s only thirteen."